The Axe and the Throne (71 page)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“All halt.”

Titon looked rearward toward the man who had issued the unwanted command. Aleric had already dismounted and was busy directing his underlings on where to erect the tent. The legions of men marching behind were forced to come to a disorderly stop, some obviously not wishing to disobey Titon's previous order to follow only his instructions, but unable to continue forward without trampling those who had faltered. The worst part of it was they did all of this within eyesight of their enemy—an enemy that would no doubt be bolstered by their lack of discipline.

Titon's horse seemed to share in his disappointment as he tugged at the reins and walked him back to where Aleric and Edgar stood.

“We should advance a thousand or so more paces to where the gate's path runs to the sea.” Titon spoke with as much cordiality as possible. Pretending Aleric was a neighbor's child that he could not discipline helped in that regard. “The ground is slightly lower there, and I do not want them sneaking any messages or supplies through during the night.”

“The higher ground is better.” Aleric did not turn to Titon as he spoke.

Sir Edgar did not seem to share his companion's scorn. He looked at Titon worriedly and said nothing.

“It would be foolish to charge the gate at an angle.” Titon went on, hoping reason might finally win over this malcontent. “We'll remain in range of their bows for a longer—”

“They've already begun to raise the tent.” Aleric interrupted while sitting down to remove his boots, still not facing Titon.

Titon tore his death stare away from Aleric's back and turned it to his true enemy. The castle he saw was no less impressive than it had been as they marched north of it to reach the sea, then south to reach—almost reach—its eastern gate. Then he looked toward his troops, those that would need to storm that gate.

Three thousand men… It no longer seems like so many.

The horde before him was separating into three legions of equal size, each slowly forming its own rough rectangle with its back to the sea. To Titon they looked a force capable of storming a castle in their number, but they lacked the implements he'd seen carved on the doors of Veront's throne room. They had no boulder-hurling contraptions, no ladders, no rams. Veront had not even spared any of his dragons from the arena.
The only thing on that door we might hope to reproduce is the pile of bodies that spanned the moat.

But he would not be deterred. The nightmares from his fitful sleep had redoubled his cause for urgency, the image of Keethro's head having been the one he'd recently cleaved from the halfbreed's shoulders still fresh in his mind. The castle that sat behind him may have looked majestic, enveloped by the setting Dawnstar, but it was an infant in comparison to the behemoth that guarded Rivervale and had no moat. If they formed a mound of bodies, they would use it instead to climb the walls—a thing Titon hoped to avoid by breeching the gate.

When the men had settled into formation, Titon addressed them.

“Tomorrow we take the small fort you see in the distance.” Titon paced in front of them, speaking with enough strength to be heard by all. “Though most of you look to be no strangers to combat…” The lie was almost too much for him to say without a grimace. “…For some this will be your first battle. Those of you who have not witnessed the horrors of war, I tell you now, it is more gruesome than you imagine. Turn to your left and right. Expect to see the heads of those men roll upon the ground, their arms ripped from their bodies, and their entrails spilled and trampled by your own feet. That will help you tomorrow when what you see is worse.”

“Hmph.” Titon did not need to look to know the smug and disapproving grunt had come from Aleric who stood behind him. Titon's speech after executing the halfbreed clearly had not worked as hoped to stop this man from being a blister in the boot. Aleric had continued to bemoan Titon's decision to march past Strahl to the coastline—loudly so. And each time Titon would try to remind Aleric that it was he who commanded them, Aleric would have some retort about Veront being their true commander.
This man is a liability without benefit
, Titon thought, but he continued as if he had not heard the sound.

Titon let his hard gaze sweep all three legions, hoping each man would feel it. “Listen to the words I speak now, and obey the commands I yell tomorrow. Doing otherwise would be a grievous mistake.”

The son of Small Gryn had marched his men without compassion for nine days at half again normal pace and at half ration. He suspected they'd hated him for it, but returning to Rivervale with haste to ensure their deal remained fresh in King Veront's mind had become an even more pressing concern after the halfbreed's warning.
I hope you are enjoying the large portions of the Rivervale prisons, Keethro,
Titon thought upon finishing each of his own half-sized meals. Only in these last few days had Titon allowed them to switch to double rations and slow their pace, and the thankfulness was written on the faces of all his men.

Only victory matters
, Titon reminded himself, in preparation for the action he feared he may come to regret. The parting Dawnstar bathed the two crescents of his weapon in amber and violet as he raised it above his head. “And on the battlefield,” he yelled, “no mistakes are forgiven.” With a fluid motion Titon turned and swung his blade downward, first connecting with the plate on Aleric's shoulder and continuing until the man was split to the ass in two. His halves fell to either side, each still in their plate containers, with the exception of his intestines, which spilled between.

Sir Edgar had a panicked look but calmed when Titon nodded to him as only one man can do to another in acknowledgment of their mutual accord.

“If you are upwind of this, the smell of war,” Titon went on, “be sure to come and give your nostrils their fill before you retire. If you are too far to see what it is this man last ate, come and let your eyes share in his feast. Look upon it until you grow weary from the mundaneness of it. If such things give you pause tomorrow, your enemy will cut you down the moment you hesitate.”
I found a purpose for you after all, Sir Aleric.

His thoughts went to the pheasant killed by one of their scouts, which had been herbed and salted and would soon be roasted over oak coals. The man with the lucky arrow had said it was a tradition in Rivervale to offer your leader game before a battle, as it brought greater chance of victory. Tonight, Titon planned to amend that tradition to include sharing it with the man who'd killed it. His speech would only require a few more minutes, and he had a hunger in his belly that not even the stink of Aleric's bowels could expunge. “But let there be no mistake,” he continued. “Tomorrow you will be afraid, as will I. We all feel the grip of fear when faced with death. But fear is like a beautiful woman…”

“Looks to be four, maybe five thousand infantry with a cavalcade of several hundred,” said Randir.

It was the same as Titon had estimated. Just as Titon had roused his men, his enemy had also stirred to action in the predawn glow.

“And what are they doing outside the protection of the walls?”

Randir did not need pause to think. “Lord Edwin is Illumined. They will avoid killing—even their sworn enemies—whenever possible. He is showing you the brunt of his army in the hopes that you will know that victory is hopeless and leave.”

Titon's face contorted in disgust. “But I could have ten thousand men hiding in the mountains to the north, and he would have just shown his forces for nothing.”

Randir was unmoved. “He could also have ten thousand men hiding behind his walls.”

“If he were truly wishing to avoid battle at all costs then he would need show all fifteen thousand, no?”

Randir shrugged as if to concede with some reluctance.

Titon had not noticed Randir until the conclusion of his rallying speech the previous night. Randir was the third survivor from the arena, knocked unconscious by the dragon's wrath but otherwise unharmed. It was his frame that caught Titon's attention as he scanned his soldiers—the man was built much like Keethro, if not a bit shorter, and Titon made the connection upon seeing the buckler on his arm. Titon invited him to share the pheasant and found he was a good source of honest knowledge, nothing at all like Sir Edgar who seemed to know little more than his own name and title.

“You appear to respect the man,” Titon prodded.

“I have no love for Edwin, but respect, yes. He has done a great thing for the people of Strahl, the Illumined.”

“You speak as if you were one of them.”

“I was never fool enough to consider myself Illumined. I may find their values laudable, but I do not share their beliefs. My wife is among them, however.”

“Your
wife
?” Titon made no attempt to mask his shock. “She lives within those walls? Am I wise to turn my back on you during combat knowing this?”

Randir scowled with vehemence. “I owe you my life for what happened in the arena. On my honor as a knight, I will help you take this city, though I do not feel we stand a chance. If we do not succeed, another army will. This is just a fraction of Veront's forces, and he will take Strahl in time.”

And he is a knight as well…
Titon could not help but believe the man, given how sincerely offended he was at the implication of treachery. And it would be foolish for him to tell Titon all of this, should he truly plan to betray him. “And if we do succeed?”

“Then I'd only ask that I am given temporary leave to protect my wife and her home from that which follows.”

He knows war.
“You will have it. I will accompany you myself and ensure her safety. You have my word as a Galatai warrior.”
My word as a knight means little.

Randir nodded with reverence.

“They may have numbers, but now that they are outside their walls we have range,” Titon explained. “I see no spears or halberds above their heads. Their swords and shields will not fare well against row upon row of spear.”
I hope.
The first to draw blood was often the first to win, and Titon's experience with throwing weapons had taught him that the first to draw blood was often, if not always, the one with greater range.

“We have the ocean to our backs. It will make retreat very difficult should things go wrong,” said Randir.

“Aye, the ocean is where I want it. But I am not familiar with this southern word you speak…
retreat
?”

Randir gave Titon a good-humored snort in response.

“And we will soon have another thing behind us with the Dawnstar's rising,” Titon added. “With an ocean and a god backing us, I find it hard to believe we could manage to be defeated, even with the whimpering boys we have been given. And also, our men know we do not have the rations to return to Rivervale.”

Sir Edgar approached, clearing his throat as he came.

“The men are ready?” Titon asked the new arrival.

“Aye,” said Edgar.